Slash The Others, My Heart is for You
by tobifreakazoid
Summary: In a world that was out for blood, the only one that showed her any mercy was a monster straight out of a horror movie. She vowed that she would do anything for him, even at the cost of her own worthless life. He taught her how to have fun. He taught her how to play with humans. This is the story of the night that she went out to have her fun, and came back home for anothe


One rabbit,

Two rabbit,

Run rabbit,

Dead rabbit.

Silent night, holy night. (y/n) never did get that. Nothing was holy about a silent night. A night where animal grunts, hoots and chatter could be heard was safe. A night where the screech of tyres, the rustle of garbage cans, and the catcalls of three-dollar hooker can be heard was safe. A night with noises meant that the world was alive, and that there is nothing to hide from. A silent night meant danger.

But then again, the night was silent for her.

And the prey enters, stage left.

Her butt was getting numb from all that sitting, and the cold night air wasn't helping either. So she moved from the two-storied building's ledge, rubbing gravel and dirt off of his ass, and made her way to the sidewalks via the not-so-safe and squeaky emergency staircase next to the building. The place was run down and ready to close, but the tenants, good-for-nothing night folks like her, had nowhere else to go. So they stayed there as the paint peels off and the cracks starts to deepen in the walls. And the moon shone on.

(y/n) dug her hands deeper into her ratty sweater that she kept telling herself she would steal a newer one for, and surprise, surprise, found a grape fizz still in its wrapper. She popped that into her mouth, humming to herself. Tonight's gonna be good, that much she knew.

She didn't grow up in a neighbourhood like this, all standard, monotonous houses, with grey walls and dabs of plants here and there. The houses on the block looked suffocated, as if they hadn't have enough air to breathe. They were cramped and small, with no personality at all. She lived in the countryside, once upon a time ago, when she was still human. It was beautiful, waking up to a brilliant sunburst that painted the world buttercup yellow. She remembered the smell of melting butter on toast, her favourite breakfast, and drinking milk that was fresh as hell.

She didn't remember the faces, though. Her mom and dad. Her siblings if she had any. Her cat, because she was sure she didn't own a dog. She hated the dratted creatures. Strange that she remembered breakfast more than family. Her stomach sure had a long and good memory.

Her hand went to the covered knife that she keeps lodged in her messily-done bun. Deftly unslotting it from the cover, she took a few experimental swing in the night air, then felt glee and excitement bubbling in her throat. She didn't want to take unnecessary attention, so she allowed a couple of silent, body-shaking laughter out.

Holding herself back from prancing like a little girl out on a candy hunt, she walked faster to the spot that he told her to wait at. She had waited all week for this. To pull out the guts of an unsuspecting man, woman or child. She waits patiently to hear their screams of helplessness as the blood pours out of their her-inflicted wounds, like a bitten into watermelon. And that moment that she lived for, the moment where that spark that separates the eyes of the living and the dead leaves their cold body, she cherished it so. It was beautiful, vulnerable and selfishly hers all at once. She licks the juices, all ruby red and glistening, off her fingers every time, perversely glad that she was the last one to taste their anima, their souls. She had their last moments, their last breaths. She would cradle them in her arms after, singing lullabies to help them pass on faster. She had freed them, and they deserved the liberation that comes from death.

But most importantly, she did it for him. The first time she saw him was when she was seven, a little orphan alone in a park. It was after the being taken out of the countryside when her parents were murdered. She had waited on the swing set where the lady that smelled like cigarettes and cheap cologne had left her. She had told her that she was gonna go and get some stuff from the grocers down the lane. She lied. She left her, a little girl no bigger than a mailbox, on a swing in a gone-to-hell neighborhood.

And then he came. In his black suit and darker demeanor. She supposed, she should have been scared of him, but no, she wasn't. He was tall, gigantic to the eyes of a kid. And he was faceless. But his voice, from God-knows-where, she heard. It was beautiful. He beckoned for her at dusk from a tree near the park, hours after her abandonment. She, who knew no one with kindness after her life at the farm ended. She who had no one left in the world that cared. She who was a bit scratched and torn, but not entirely broken.

So she went with him. And so he cared and comforted her. And so she stayed. And killed in his name. And had fun. Lots and lots of merry fun.

A cat broke her out of her reverie. It went bang, bang, bang on the trashcans that made the back alleys their habitat.

He told her that she couldn't go out and play a much as she liked because it would put bad people on her trail. Bad people who wanted to stop her fun. Bad people that wanted to separate him and her. She couldn't have that, no. Her fun cannot end. If it ended, she would have nothing. He would hate her. And he would abandon her. So she had to make her own fun, in hopes that he stayed.

Because she loved him so.

The person she was after should be in their home by now. It was dark enough, and she had checked and rechecked her routine time after time, because he told her that it must be perfect, every step of the way. Her target, would wake up at around 6.30, take out last night's trash at 7, and walk to the vet that she worked at around 7.30, then start work at 8.15. she usually wears a brown coat when she leaves, one that she hangs on the hook of her door every evening, shouting ' _I'm back, boy!_ ' to a tomcat, and starts making dinner, or if she's not feeling up to it, order Chinese take outs from the restaurant two blocks down. She has no family here, has no roommate, and her friends live a bit far from her house. So she was practically alone, with a tomcat that is.

A person that won't be missed immediately.

The perfect toy.

"Come on now, it's only little ol' me. You've seen me around, haven't you? I come by the vet almost every day for the past week."

The woman cowered further into her tight corner. Her eyes flashed with fear and the shine from the already bloodied knife. (y/n) brandished the knife in her face, laughing gleefully at the expressions that flutter across her plaything's face. it had been a wee bit tiring, that evening, with acting the part of the lost girl, slitting the throat of the mongrel that tried to bite her, chasing her prey around the house, and immobilizing her on her own bed. But, it all paid off, as long as she has her fun. What was fun without a little hard work, anyways? She enjoyed herself tremendously.

"W-what do you want? I'll give you anything! Just leave me alone."

She scratched her head with butt of the bloodied knife. "Now, that's the thing that I don't get. Why do you all assume that I want something from you? I don't want anything at all, except for, well, to get to know you better. Inside and out." She gave her best smile, in hopes that the woman would reciprocate. She loved making new friends.

How rude. Not a smile in sight. Guess she had to make the lady smile, instead.

Her knife danced with a grace that brought tears to the woman's eyes. And the woman couldn't stop crying. She was truly an artist. The bed creaked and cackled as her playmate struggled in pleasure. She hoped it was pleasure. Oh, well. People say that pain and pleasure are two sides of the same coin, no?

The cream comforters were stained with brilliant shades of scarlet. The woman is now sporting a smile that is so cheery, so bright. It showed off her delicate looking teeth, the gaping wound lending a beautiful shade to cover up all that white. The skin wasn't cut cleanly, leaving a few gaping holes that added to the overall beauty.

The lady was mumbling now. Wait, was she praying?

The slap came out of nowhere, sending crimson droplets everywhere. She, whose hands are stained, said clearly, coldly. "We don't pray, or at least, not to your God. Why would you pray to the one that puts you in my grasp in the first place? Call for deliverance. See if he cares about your pathetic self. Weakling."

God never did answer her when she was touched and fondled by strangers in the middle of the night in a crowded dormitory. Sister Anne from the orphanage told her to pray before going to bed so that the monsters wouldn't get her. Sister Anne didn't know any monsters. How could she? She was a pure soul. (Y/n), however, wasn't. She knew a lot of monsters pretending to be human.

And one that accepted her to the bones.

No more grim thoughts, now. Slenderman didn't really like it when she dwells on the horrors. Said it wasn't her fault. Said that she had to only have fun from now on. She should listen to him and only him.

"Let's see what we can do with your intestines next. You're gonna be a masterpiece."

"Good girl, (y/n). Such a good girl", Slenderman said, stroking her blood matted hair lovingly. "There is beauty in your craft, as is passion and joy." He lifted her face with his tentacle, and she felt his gaze grace her, even without his eyes. She felt blessed. Content. Happy. As long as she can make him proud, she'd burn the world for him.

"Can we play, now?" she asked, clearly wanting a reward from him. It was rare, but when he felt particularly pleased with her, he would give her the best give he can offer.

Himself.

He lets go of her chin, straightening up. Silently, he moved to the other end of the dark room. Horror clouded her features. Was he displeased? Did she do something wrong? He sat on the couch, beckoning her to come to him. She took hesitant steps, wishing that he isn't angered. Especially not with her. Even sitting down, his head was at level with hers.

"Come here, then." He said, gesturing to his lap. She straddled him, her hands linking behind his impossibly long neck. Her chest grazed his, the friction sending a jolt through her body. She felt so sensitive, a feeling that she has only for him.

"Close your eyes"

He was going to kiss her. She wasn't allowed to see his face when he kissed her. So, she closed her eyed, waiting for his mouth to plunder hers. He was lipless, but his tongue invaded her mouth, plundering without mercy as it wrestles with her own. Her hand clenches on his impeccable suit as heat started to build in her.

"M-more. I need more. Please."

He chuckled, clearly amused. "I do love a girl with manners. Tell me what you want, then."

"Touch me here. I want to feel you." She guided his hand to her breasts, letting him trace her hard buds through her clothes. She shivered when he pinches one, kneading her mound with his other hand. She lets her moans echo through the room.

"So needy, little one."

She gasped when she felt one of his appendages push aside her skirt and her soaked panties. It toyed with her folds, bringing her higher, but not to the point of climax. At least, not yet. His hand left her breasts and went straight for her clit. The beautiful, beautiful fingers plunged into her, causing the knot in her stomach tauter. She felt on fire, as if she was waiting to burst. Two fingers were in her, curving as he touched the most intimate part of her. Then three. Then four. Her breasts bounced with each thrust that he sent. The heat was getting unbearable.

"I, ah, I'm…I can't hold it back anymore."

"Then cum, little one. Cum for me, (y/n)." His whisper was accentuated with a sharp bite on her neck.

She lets go, clinging hard to his arm, feeling his tentacles support her as she climaxed. His fingers rode her out, digits slick with her juices. Her vision blanked for a second, and she lost herself to the feel of his fingers, still pumping into her sensitive core.

"You've dirtied me, (y/n). You have tainted me so."

She kissed him on his cheek, clinging hard to his form.

She was his for life.


End file.
